"No one knows who sent those slaves," he said, "but it does stand to reason that if certain parties sent them they wouldn't have been content just to create chaos and then step back. Now •some might have—Stonehold, maybe, or even Waterland. I understand that Waterland is wondering if the current shift in power means that Bright Bay isn't going to be able to rival them in naval power anymore. They might have wanted to make certain that would be so.
"And maybe," he continued, "Queen Valora decided to take advantage of having all her enemies in one place to make a strike. Even if no one was killed, she'd have made them nervous and nervous people make mistakes."
He made a sweeping gesture toward the window through which the retreating parties of former guests were still visible.
"Look at that. Think of the rumors they'll spread, of the doubt and fear and uncertainty." He rubbed his eyes. "My dad collects rumors, you know, from the travelers who hire horses and carriages from his stables. Rumors do a lot more than people think. Given time, they might even end up doing as much harm as if the prince and princess had really been killed."
Firekeeper nodded. "So I think, though only not so much. What should we do? Do we keep this, just us three, or do we tell someone?"
Derian felt quite acutely how young he was and a certain unfair desire to lay this responsibility on older shoulders.
"King Tedric," he said, "doesn't leave for Hawk Haven until tomorrow or the day after. He wanted to make certain that he could honestly report that Sapphire was out of danger. Let me see if I can get an appointment with him.
"It might not be possible," he cautioned, when Firekeeper leapt to her feet in sudden enthusiasm for his plan. "I only said I'd try."
But three hours later, Derian, Firekeeper, and Blind Seer were admitted into the king's presence.
The king wasn't alone, but then neither of the kings, nor the queens, nor any of the princes or princesses had been alone since the assassins' attack. Now that the first shock of that attack was over, Derian had heard there was some grumbling from the younger parties, but he doubted that there would ever be any from King Tedric.
At seventy-five, the old king had given the last forty-seven years of his life to ruling the kingdom he had inherited from his father, King Chalmer. Reportedly once imperious and even arrogant, Tedric had changed with the years—not softened, but mellowed, and like an aged wood, he was stronger for the seasoning.
Derian was this king's youngest counselor and though he had grown somewhat comfortable with attending large meetings and even speaking out when needed, he was still acutely aware whenever he met with the king in smaller gatherings that he was young enough to be the great man's grandson.
Rising from his deep bow, Derian gave a briefer but still polite bow to the king's guard, Sir Dirkin Eastbranch, and took the seat the king indicated to him. Firekeeper sat, as was her custom, on the floor beside Blind Seer. The wolf did not lounge as he had in Derian's room, but sat bolt upright, so his head was far higher than the woman's.
It said much about both the king and his guard that neither showed even a reflex trace of nervousness at the wolf's presence.
"Well, Derian Carter," the king said, coming to the point without any waste of time. "What is this you felt so urgently that I needed to hear about?"
If there was the faintest of twinkles in the pale brown of Tedric's washed-out eyes, Derian felt comforted by it rather than threatened.
"Well, Your Majesty, Firekeeper came to me with this story…"
As concisely as possible he told the tale as Firekeeper had him, adding the information he had garnered from his own questions. Out of fairness to Firekeeper, he spoke not one word to protect himself from accusations of being too credulous, but spoke as if he believed—as he realized that he did—both that she could understand the wolf and that the wolf could read the winds as humans read print.
When he finished his report, the king said mildly, "Well, that's interesting indeed. I wonder…"
Closing his eyes, he sat silently mulling over the information for so long that even Derian, who respected him with something close to awe, thought he might have fallen asleep. At last, the king opened his eyes and said:
"If Valora was behind the attack on Sapphire and Shad then she must be sorely disappointed. Nor do I find it surprising that Duke Half-Moon, her representative, was among the first to take his leave. Still, as pleasant as it might be, we cannot take her mere presence in the vicinity as proof of guilt. We can stand warned, but we cannot act, not without risking war."
When Derian glanced at Firekeeper, he found the wolf-woman's expression unreadable.
"We could not," King Tedric continued, speaking directly to Firekeeper, "even if our witness was more prominent than one keen-nosed wolf. For all we know, this is precisely what whoever sent the assassins was hoping for—that we would accuse Valora and that she could then use such accusations to trigger a war. Many of those who now stand neutral would choose her side if they felt that King Allister and myself were acting in a high-handed fashion."
Firekeeper spread her hands widely. "But what to do? We do not want to start a war, but I think Queen Valora does. What to do to stop this?"
"We keep alert," the king said, "and calm and give no reason for outcry against us. The longer we act in such a manner, the longer will those neutral parties see us as the bastions of a solid kingdom and Valora as the warmonger rather than the wronged queen seeking to return to her people."
"It seem wrong," Firekeeper said, voicing the protest Derian could not bring himself to speak, "to let her do harm and not harm back."
"True," the king said, "but my hope is that Valora—or whoever was behind this attempt, for we have no definite proof—will harm herself."
Firekeeper looked puzzled. "How?"
King Tedric answered her with a question of his own. "Don't wolves drive the deer?"
The young woman frowned. "Yes and when they run then we catch the slow and weak."
"And sometimes," the king continued, "don't you catch those who make themselves slow and weak when they trip right over their own feet?"
Firekeeper nodded, smiling her understanding. Derian wished he felt as certain that Queen Valora could be made to trip.
Firekeeper asked, "Will you tell King Allister what we tell you?"
"In confidence," Tedric replied, "even as you have told me. I think Allister's Whyte Steel can be trusted, but we must keep this close. After all we cannot have new rumors starting that kings are now taking counsel from little girls."
Derian knew that Firekeeper would have growled if anyone else had called her such, but the king's age was so great that even she saw he had earned the right.
"We try," she said, stroking Blind Seer's fur, "Blind Seer and me, to do what we can to make, you safe."
"We appreciate that," the king said, "and someday, in the ungrateful fashion of kings, we may call upon you to do even more."
Derian wondered at the force in those simple words and felt himself squaring his shoulders as if he was a soldier called to duty.
A chiming of bells made the king sigh.
"As much as I would rather prolong this visit," he said, "that announces my next appointment. Keep what you have told me to yourselves. Trust that I will pass it on where it will do the most good."
"We do, Your Majesty," Derian said.
Firekeeper nodded agreement and rose lithely to her feet. Together they bowed and took their leave. As they left, they were surprised to see Doc waiting to come in, his expression grave and a rolled piece of paper held loosely in one long-fingered hand.
"Anything wrong with your patients, Doc?" Derian asked, regretting his impulsiveness even as he spoke. If either Shad or Sapphire had taken a turn for the worse, Doc would certainly not speak of it in a public hallway.
Doc, however, smiled reassurance. "No, this time I am the patient—after a fashion. I'll see you later."
Leaving them mystified, the knight entered the royal presence. As the door shut behind him, Derian realized that Firekeeper was looking at him, clearly expecting him to clarify Doc's cryptic statement.
"I don't know what he meant," Derian said honestly, clearly disappointing not only Firekeeper but the two listening door guards as well. "But I suppose he'll tell us later."
Firekeeper shrugged. "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."
Beside her, Blind Seer opened his mouth to show his teeth, panting in what seemed obvious agreement.
He understands us
, Derian thought,
far better than we do him. Any of us, that is
, he amended,
but Firekeeper
.
"I could use something myself," he said aloud. "Let's drop down to the servants' hall. There's usually at least bread and cheese."
Derian thought that it said something about Firekeeper's character that neither he nor she thought it at all remarkable that Lady Blysse Kestrel should go from an audience with a king to dining in the servants' hall. What Derian didn't consider was that it said something about himself as well.
A
t about the same time Firekeeper and Blind Seer were heading off to see Derian, Lady Elise Archer went to call on her cousin Sapphire—and to take her turn as interior chamber guard.
There were two armed guards outside the door to the makeshift infirmary, and more patrolled the gardens outside the windows. Shad and Sapphire both had balked at having other guards inside the room, and a compromise had been reached. Someone they viewed as a friend rather than a henchman—no matter how loyal—was to stay within the room. That person was given a bell-pull with which to alert the corridor guards and instructions to raise a fuss at the least suspicion of trouble.
As with most compromises, no one was completely happy, but as everyone was less unhappy the arrangement worked out.
Elise was scheduled to relieve Prince Tavis, who had taken the early-morning shift. The young prince didn't leave immediately when she arrived, but stayed to finish the game he was playing with his brother. It was a complicated tactical game in which one side took the role of the pirates and the other that of a naval contingent sent to hunt them out. Each piece seemed to have its own values and rules for moving and attacking.
Though the board was rather pretty, and the carved and painted pieces representing the ships were absolutely darling, Elise was rather relieved that no one expected her to learn it. Sapphire, on the other hand, all but panted to have a chance. When Elise came in, she was alternating between reading the rules pamphlet and asking questions about the game in process.
After greeting all present, Elise accepted the bell-pull from Tavis, freeing him to concentrate on his game. At times the arguments over moves became rather heated—so heated that Elise, who was an only child, was startled that such furious debate could be followed by laughter and even cheers at a particularly good move by one player or another.
For her part, she pulled out her embroidery and arranged her chair to make the most of the midmorning light. After a while, Tavis left, still arguing that his brother's winning tactic had been unfair. Shad, who had been playing the pirates, laughingly told him that expecting fairness from pirates had been the downfall of far too many naval commanders.
"Elise," Sapphire said soon after Tavis had departed, "do you think you could put that sewing by and give me a hand? I think I understand how to move the pieces now, but our beds are too far apart for us to play even with the table set between them."
"But if I," Elise said, divining her thought, "came and moved your pieces for you, then the board could stay where it is."
"Exactly!" Sapphire replied, pleased.
Elise was pleased, too. The distance which the newlyweds' beds had been set had been dictated by the wishes of both the attending physicians—who wanted to make certain that their patients were not tempted into unwise actions—and by those concerned with security, who wanted to make certain that there were no narrow avenues to block any defensive actions should they prove necessary.
As with the need for someone in the room at all times, this arrangement had rather irked both Shad and Sapphire. Elise had overheard the prince saying to his father that the only thing worse than being married to a beautiful woman and being forced to delay the wedding night was being locked in a room with her day and night and not being permitted even to hold her hand.
King Allister had replied rather dryly that Shad and Sapphire
could
be put in different rooms, if that would be preferable, and Shad had quickly stopped complaining.
Elise was rather happy that her quick agreement had kept the complaints from starting again. Privately, she was in sympathy with the newlyweds, but she couldn't forget the blood-soaked carpet in the Sphere Chamber or the whiteness of Sapphire's face after she had been wounded. If prudence would prevent this happening again, so be it.
For the next hour or so, Elise obediently moved naval ships along the paths Sapphire dictated. She was even getting a feeling for the strategies involved in constructing effective search patterns when there was a knock on the door and the porter announced Lord Rory Seal, the Royal Physician.
Elise swallowed a groan as Shad politely thanked the porter and said that Lord Rory should be admitted. She couldn't help it. She didn't like the pompous nobleman. It wasn't just that she felt annoyed at how he treated Sir Jared, it was that even to someone with her limited training in the healing arts he was so obviously incompetent.
Perhaps, Elise admitted to herself, barely competent would be a fairer description. Lord Rory knew enough to act the physician, but Elise thanked her patron Lynx that Sir Jared, not Lord Rory, had been the first on the scene when the assassins had attacked.
Superficially, Lord Rory looked exactly as a trusted family doctor should. A man in his middle forties, he was tall enough to possess an aura of command, but not so tall as to be intimidating. His build was precisely right, hinting at an athletic youth maintained into his mid-years, but without some frantic attempt to pass for younger than he was. In repose, his face bore lines that hinted at deep thought—though Elise preferred to believe that they indicated a need for spectacles. His hair was heavily, but attractively, touched with silver. He wore no beard.